Boondock Lovin'
by The Romance Chick
Summary: One shot. ConnorOC. Some explicit mature scenes. Be warned. marysue to the Nth. Enjoy.


I don't own Boondock Saints. There. Done.

Boondock lovin'

"He's drivin' me up a fookin' wall!"

Connor was cranky tonight. Sometimes it was annoying, but most of the time it was cute. It reminds me of an old man kind of cranky. Or a little kid. I know it's partially because he's tired, partially his blood sugar is low, and partially Murphy has been a bit difficult lately. He just needed a little of what all humans need and he'd be back to his usual snarky self; some food, drink, and sleep and he'd be as good as new.

Uh-oh. He caught me smirking.

"It's not funny! If he keeps loosin' his temper like dat, it's likely to become a liability. He can't just move wherever his passions take 'im."

It was hard not to smile at him. His voice was quieter and more high pitched, filled with the frustration of someone who believed he was being picked on. Which, he kind of was.

"You know that's just the way he is," I said as I began taking off my coat. "You know you wouldn't have him any other way."

"I know," he huffed, falling backwards across the width of the bed. Covering his face with his hands, he began to massage his temples.

"Sure, he's been a little bit unbearable this week," I continued, "but I think it's just for the same reason you've been a little edgy."

At this, he lifted his head and gazed up at me from, his brows angled in a look that said _you must be kidding me?_

"Edgy?" His voice had dropped to his normal register. "Darlin', I'm about as edgy as a skipping' stone."

"Uh-huh" I said, sarcastically. "So, is that why you freaked earlier when he hid your boots?"

He sprang to a sitting position. "I left 'em by de door! I go to de ba'troom for a second and dey're gone!" The high voice was back. "What kind of person duck tapes shoes underneaf' a sofa? Who 'tinks of dat?"

It was then my turn to give him the _are you kidding me?_ look. "He was just trying to get you to ease up a bit. Though, it seems he just made things worse." I came up to him and ran my hand through his hair, something I knew always calms him. He took my other hand and held it tenderly with both of his own. "Baby, you've both been underslept and underfed for a while. You can go without food, and you can go without sleep, but you can't go without both. So, will you stop playing the martyr for five minutes, take off your coat, and eat something?"

Connor sighed deeply, defeated, then kissed my palm. The gentle touch of his lips made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I tried to ignore it for the time being. Playfully, I knocked his head to the side as I walked back to the bag of take-out I'd left on the small table by the door. He followed me. Taking off his coat, he placed it on the back of one of the chairs. I noticed him wince but didn't comment on it. I knew he was still aching from their last job.

As he unpacked our dinner, I sorted what was whose. It wasn't fancy; a meatball heroes for him, a chicken parm sandwich for me, and two bottles of beer: Guinness for him and Sam Adams for me. The meal was enough to sustain us until we could get our next one. It was nice just being able to sit there with him, joke, talk. We hadn't done it in a while, and with me relocating and their "grand tour" beginning, as Murph had taken to calling it, who knew when we'd be able to do it again. I kicked off my shoes and curled one of my legs under me, the most relaxed I'd been in several weeks.

"Where's Pa McMannus this evening?" I asked with a sip of my beer.

A smile graced his lips at my nick name for his father, those dimples making my heart skip a beat. "He's out getting' some last minute supplies, makin' sure every'ting's in order. He's very particular about certain 'tings. I'm learnin' dat more and more every day."

I rested my cheeks in my hands and gazed at him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Can you remember him at all from when you were young?"

"Hmm." His smile grew wide and bitter as his glance turned downward, searching for his zippo lighter. He reached for the pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket, lighting one before simply saying, "No." After a long drag, he continued. "He was gone 'fore me and Murph even turned two. Gone off to fight de _Cause_, like ma always say. We didn't get what she was talkin' about 'til we was older. No, I don't have any memories about 'im. I had dreams though."

"You dreamed about him?"

"Oh yeah."

"Even though you couldn't remember him?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"What was he like in the dreams?"

There was a long pause before he spoke, visibly gathering memories he hadn't considered in a long time.

"Ma had a picture of her and da on deir weddin' day, the two of 'em young, full a life. Like dat was always how I saw him. Even once I got older, he stayed young in my dreams. The last time I had one, I 'tink we musta' been de same age."

"The dreams stopped?"

"When we came here."

"Is he like you imagined?"

"Yes... No... I don't know. Are you going to finish dat?" He was asking about my sandwich, cleverly taking the focus off of him.

"It's all yours," I said. Before the words left my mouth, he'd already made a grab for it.

"What about you?" he asked. "Your old man aroun' much when you were small?"

"No," I replied, slightly smirking. He had switched the focus to me.

"Didn't 'tink so." He looked proud of himself for guessing correctly.

"What made you guess?"

"The way you are wit da. A bit like you never had one of yer own."

"Well, you're right. I didn't. He was never around much, but he finally bailed out on my mom around when I was six."

"You remember 'im?

"I saw him often enough."

"I 'tought you said..."

"He lived across town with his other family. I saw him with his wife and kids at the grocery store, in the park, you know. Around. Anyway, I always used to try and get a better look at them to figure out why they were so great, so much better than me and my mom. By the time I was twelve, I knew better and stopped."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't you're fault."

"I know, but," he reached out for my hand again, "You deserve to be loved."

I kissed his knuckles at that. "I am," I reasured him, then saw something in his eyes change. He was much worse at hiding his emotions than his brother or I. Connor wore his heart on his sleeve and it was clear what he was thinking; the intensity with which he was now watching me almost made me blush. At that moment the most distinguishable sound of rhythmic thumping and moaning from next door reached our ears. It took all my will power not to laugh at the sight of Connor's face changing to anger, mad that the moment had been ruined by the most ironic or interruptions.

"What de fook?"

"Exactly," I couldn't help replying.

A crash could be heard beyond the wall, followed by louder moaning of both a masculine and feminine nature.

"Do ye see what I mean?" he asked, jumping to his feet and throwing his hands in the air. "He doesn't even care who can hear 'im. He probably wants de world to know what he's doin'!"

"Connor McMannus, when did you become such a prude?"

"Prude?! I just want to get some sleep, is all."

I did my best to ignore his whining and went to my bag to get my tooth brush. By the time I'd found it, Connor had thrown out what was left of our meal and put out his cigarette (which was really just containers), and was seated on one of the beds. As I began to brush my teeth, I heard one of his boots thump to the floor as he took it off. My glance turned to the side and I saw him removing his shirt through the crack of the bathroom door. The rhythm of my brushing slowed and I watched the spectacular way his muscles moved as he took off the rosary that hung around his neck and placed it on the bedside table. I couldn't help but remember one of the too few moments in which his sweat coated torso hovered over mine, unintelligible words softly spilling from his swollen lips. He stood to unbutton then unzip his pants, but... why did he stop? There was a sly grin on his face. Uh-oh. I'd been caught again. My head snapped back to my own reflection as I finished brushing my teeth and washing my face.

As I dried my face, I felt hands slide across my hips and arms wrap around me. I hadn't even heard him come in and didn't know if I was more angry at myself for that or impressed with him. My eyes fell shut as I breathed deeply.

"It's not polite to stare, ye know," he softly scolded, the scratchy surface of his chin rubbing against my neck, near my ear. By the feel of his body, I could tell he was only wearing his boxers. I did my best to steady my knees.

"No?" I played dumb while stretching my neck to give him more room and invite his lips. He caught on and placed kisses on my skin, gently biting my shoulder. His hands started to carefully move under my shirt. "I thought you were a prude who just wanted to get some sleep."

"Dat racket was gettin' unbearable," he grumbled against me. "I came in here to get away from't, only to find you..." Up his hands crept until they reached my breasts.

"... And you thought we could make some racket of our own?"

I felt him grin against my neck and his cheeks get a bit warmer. Even now, he was ever the Irishman, with enough sense and charm to be bashful. This made both of us laugh a bit. I opened my eyes and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. I saw that unlike his mouth, his eyes weren't smiling. They were sharp and serious, almost menacing. Legend has it that Saint Patrick banished all snakes from Ireland. Well, Connor must have been one of them, for like serpents his arms moved; sleek like cobras, they slithered downward, reaching the hem of my shirt, then quick as a viper, tore it over my head. Like pythons, the two limbs wrapped around my body and held me tight against his own body, almost crushingly so. Against by bottom, I could feel a pressing hardness, the king anaconda telling the other snakes what to do. I smiled at this thought and he smiled back. The cunning glint that had been there before was gone. Eagerly biting his lip, his gaze turned down to my to my jeans. His hands shook as he tried to unbutton them, making the task somewhat difficult. Gently, I placed my hands over his, stilling them.

"It's okay," I whispered. "We don't have to rush."

Resting his forehead against my temple, I felt hot breath rushing quickly from his slack-jawed mouth. He stayed that way for a minute, eyes shut tight, brow furrowed as he calmed himself. Feeling his chest rising and falling against my back made me realize my own rapid breathing and I tried to calm myself with him. Reaching one of my hands up, I ran my fingers through his hair and felt him shiver a bit and his hands clutch at my jeans.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at his hands and finally unbuttoned my jeans. Letting out a heavy breath, he lowered the zipper. Pushing beneath the denim, he placed his palms on my pelvis and held me there for a moment.

"Sorry," he said, his voice deep and raspy, a breath of laughter falling from his mouth. "I'm behavin' like a teenager. I'm jus nervous... I'm worried dis will be our last time t'gether."

I had the same fear. I wasn't going to lie and say it wasn't true, say that we'd be together again before he knew it. I didn't know if I'd ever see him again after tonight.

"All the more reason to take it slow," I reassured him, rubbing his cheek. He leaned into my touch, a sad expression on his face that threatened to break my heart. Turning his head, he kissed my palm. I began to run my fingers across his lips, but he stopped me, playfully biting my finger tips, making us both giggle. Laughter stopped, though, when he sucked my index finger into his mouth, slowly licking it. My breath caught and I flinched, my hips snapping back into his, making him quietly grunt. Releasing my finger, he lowered his body as he lowered my jeans, kneeling and urging me to step out of them, rewarding me with a kiss on the small of my back when I did. Coming back up, he wasted no time removing my bra. As he'd had them in the beginning, he moved his hands up to massage my breasts. Feeling all my worry melt away, a happy sigh escaped me and I fell back against him, my head resting on his shoulder. Through the mirror, he looked me straight in the eye, watching me react to his ministrations. Reaching up, I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him toward me for a kiss.

It's amazing to me how well he knows my body, how he knows just how hard to squeeze, how to move his fingers. Was he born knowing how to touch me? Did he just spend his life looking for me to feel me up, because it feels like God create him to do this. I know he thinks his sacred mission on Earth is to eradicate the world of evil-doers, but I believe there's nothing he's better suited for than doing things to my body. It's his one true purpous in life, or so I like to pretend.

Turning me around, he pulled me flat against his chest and we continued kissing. It felt wonderful being so close, to feel his heart beating as fast as mine. As if with a mind of their own, my hands reached forward into his boxers and took a firm hold of his member. It took him a bit off guard; he let out a quick moan, as if someone had just punched him in the stomach, and shook a little. With each of my strokes, he moaned quietly into our kiss. The moans got louder until finally he pulled away from my lips, mid-moan. Pulling my hands away, he bent down and slipped my underwear off, much as he had my jeans.

"L...L... lift up yer leg," he told me.

"What?" I asked, too deliriously happy that I'd turned him into a stuttering mess to understand what he'd said.

"Lift up yer leg. Rest it on de counter.

Without even thinking, I obeyed. It was only after I felt his toung on me did I realize how open that position left me. I almost screamed when he did that. I hadn't been expecting it. I don't know what else I was expecting with my legs spread out like that and him kneeling in front of me. Instinctively, my hips angled forward a bit, bearing myself further to him, giving him better access. As he continued, my breath turned from heavy to quick, little gasps. One of my hands found its way to his head and tried to draw him closer. He responded with a gratified moan. At this point he knew how much I was enjoying it. I'm sure that had he not been tightly grasping my thighs, I would have melted to the floor. The sound of his lips on me was enough to drive me over the edge; he kissed me down there as if he were kissing my lips. He was making out with my clit! Letting go of my leg that was on the sink counter, he slipped two of his fingers inside of me.

Small whimpers and whispered words escaped my mouth. "_Oh...oh God... oh God, Connor... Connor!_" I found myself shamelessly rocking against his mouth, to which he sped the thrusting of his fingers. As I felt myself getting closer and closer to my peak, I let go of his head to hold onto the sink. At this point my arms and legs were shaking and I needed my other arm to support myself. He too, could feel me contracting around his fingers as he continued to pump them harder and faster inside of me. His toung was like silk on my clit. Just when I wasn't sure if I could take it much longer, I came, the progressive waves of pleasure washing over me. I was so overcome that I lost my balance and fell forward. Thankfully, he was there to catch me, otherwise I'd have fallen straight to the floor. Instead, he caught me and lowered me down to kneel.

As he he rubbed the last waves of pleasure out of my clit I clutched tightly to him, as if I could fall farther. Panting heavily into his neck, I regained my senses by concentrating solely on the sensation of his other hand stroking smooth circles across my back. I began placing kisses on his neck in a trail that led to his lips. At this, he stopped rubbing my clit and grabbed a hold of the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair and pushing me in for a deeper and deeper kiss. His other hand stopped stroking circles and moved down to squeeze my rear. He pulled me flush against his body again, his hard member pressing against me, between us.

"Baby," I whispered against his lips, "Why is your underwear still on?"

Once again grinning, he brought us to our feet. No sooner were we standing than he tore his boxers off. I was grinning, too, biting my lip, almost giddy with anticipation. Taking his hand with both of mine, I started to pull him toward the bed. He'd already started pumping his hand along his dick, eager to be inside me.

Playfully, I grabbed a hold of his wrist, pulled, and sling-shot him onto the bed. Pouncing on him, I pinned his arms down and kissed him. I let him get very into it before I pulled my lips away. At that, he looked extremely perplexed.

"You know what we need?" I asked him, not expecting an answer as he appeared thoroughly confused. "Some _rooope_!"

"I'm never going to live dat down, am I?"

"Not in a million years."

Reaching down, I took hold of him and smoothly slid him inside of me. A deep sigh sung lyrically out of him. Intrinsically, he rolled his hips up into me, sending a delightful thrill down my spine, pulling forth an equally deep sigh from my lungs. Soon he was sitting up, allowing him to kiss me and put his hands on many more delightful places.

I can't remember the sex we had as ever being terribly wild or passionate, but rather, extremely natural and wonderful. Like settling into a hot bath. We were both fairly quiet lovers; there were soft words spoken, a bit of moaning and lots of panting, but none of the ruckus that had been coming from next door. Being discrete individuals who had lived our lives in close quarters to others, we'd learned to be hushed in our sex acts. What we couldn't express with sound we more than made up for in touch and what I call "Bedroom Eyes". From that night I remember his lips and finger tips dancing across my skin, the dim lamp light bouncing off of his smiling eyes, fading for the briefest moment as he came. I followed close behind him.

We rested on our sides, facing each other. All was quiet for a minute or so before he spoke.

"Ask me to stay wit you," he said with a soft smile.

"What?" I didn't really understand what he meant by that. Was this a joke?

"Ask me to stay wit you and I will. I'll get on that train tomorrow headed for where-de-fuck-ever it's goin', and I'll live out the rest of my days wherever it stops."

I laughed at that.

"I'm serious, you know," he said softly in a higher octave, his smile fading and his brow clenching. From my hip, his hand moved to the small of my back to pull me closer.

"I know," I replied, sighing and stroking him behind his ear.

"Den ask me, or... do you not want to?"

"I do, Connor. I do."

"Den," he goaded, briefly taping his nose to mine, "ask."

"I can't do that" I said, frustrated by my own response.

"Why not?" he asked, more curious than hurt as I was worried he'd be.

How could I answer that? There were about a thousand reasons I could think of, just off the top of my head. Taking a deep breath, I did my best to explain.

"If this mission has been charged to you by God, as you believe it to be, then I think He'd be terribly cross with me if I took you from it."

He smirked at this, pleased with my answer, holding his laughter inside because he could tell I had something else to say.

"Is dat de only reason?" he asked, huskily.

"Well, that and Murphy needs you." This time he couldn't hold the laughter inside. "Seriously!" I continued. "I don't know what that man would do without you. Probably get himself killed within the week. You know it's true."

Cupping my cheek, he chastely kissed me. "It's a shame you were the right one," he said rolling over to reach for the lamp. "We should sleep. We've got to be up early." With that, he turned off the already dim light and pulled me close and we went to sleep.

I was woken around four in the morning by his hand running along my hip, his lips on my cheek.

"Connor...?" I began, but he silenced me with a kiss. I registered the hardness against my stomach and instantly ached for him. Throwing my leg high over his waist, I hungrily responded to the kiss. No more words were spoken between us as he rolled me onto my back. He rubbed his dick in circles around my entrance to see how wet I was, if I was ready for him. In that instant, I was. Slowly he pushed and roughly I pulled, until with a unified exhale between the two of us, he was inside me.

Slowly, deeply, he rocked into me. Above me, his whispered glossolalia sent me to a Heaven all my own. Un-crossing my ankles from be hind him, he spread my legs apart to completely pull out before thrusting back into me. He did this several times until the final time, when he could feel the tightness growing inside me. So, there he stayed until the storm at my core had ended and he'd spilled his cum into me.

As wordlessly as we'd made love, we dressed in the dark. We didn't touch or interact, except when I pressed myself against him an kissed his back where his shoulder blades met. Later, once we were dressed, he stopped me while I combed my hair, taking a section of it and inhaling the scent. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he kissed the top of my head before grabbing my duffel bag to leave. I'd kissed his back when I saw he was about to put his shirt on. It struck me at that moment that I might never see or feel his back again. I'd never get to see his get dressed again. I had to say goodbye to his skin. My hair, well, he'd always loved it down. I guess he was saying goodbye to it too, before I braided it back.

We picked-up some breakfast on the way to the train station, but I wasn't hungry and told him I'd eat on the train. I never actually did.

"Have you got every'ting?" he asked when we parked.

"Does it matter?"

His brows clenched again and I regretted my remark.

"I'm sorry, love."

"It's not your fault..." I tried to reason, but he was set in his beliefs.

"Yes it is," he firmly stated as he got out of the car.

He waited with me on the platform until the train came. As I saw it approaching in the distance, I gasped, surprised and scared that my departure and our separation was suddenly very real. He took my hand and squeezed it hard. He refused to look at me in that moment, instead focusing very hard on the approaching train, gazing at it as if it were a funeral procession. When it reached the platform, he turned to me and we kissed. The kiss was shorter than I imagined it would be; it was sweet, but ordinary, as if we'd be seeing each other the next day. We rested our foreheads against each other with our eyes closed, breathing the same air for a few moments.

"I've got to go," he finally said.

"Okay." I smiled broadly, beaming, refusing to give-in to the darkness consuming me. He flashed one of his rougesh grins at me before strolling back to the car. The minute he left my sight, I became stone. I didn't have it in me to smile any longer, or to cry, or scream or feel anything for that matter. As if in a dream, the next thing I knew was on the train, seated by a window. How I got there, I don't recall; stone has no memory. When the train started movien, it was as if I was suddenly awake. Slowly the parking lot came into view. I could see his car and I could see him in it. He had his head against the steering wheel. Was he crying? _God, no_. Putting my palm against the glass, I tried my best to send my love to him. I don't know if it worked, but the train soon passed on, leaving behind the parking lot and Connor. It was then his words from the night before made sense.

_It's a shame you were the right one._

_Damn it, Connor_, I thought. _Why is killing people you're calling? Why are you so good at it? Why are you a wanted man in twelve states? Why did you fall in love with me? Worse yet, why did I love you back?_

Leaning back, I glued myself to my seat. I refused to cry. If he was going to be a soldier of God, then so was I. Soldiers only cry when their comrades died.

_Damn it, Connor, _I thought, _Don't die._


End file.
